


The London Husbands

by DamaSedalar



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Dirty Talk, Don't hate me for the holmescest its not my fault, First Time, Fluff, I swear, M/M, Shameless Smut, Smut, Teenager Sherlock, Top John, but it gets better, don't kill the messenger, not a real teen John, not related to TAB (at all), sherlock's an aristocratic pain in the ass in the begining, smut is important, teen!lock, victorian clothes, victorian!lock, we had to have smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-18 00:49:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9356192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DamaSedalar/pseuds/DamaSedalar
Summary: Victorian Era. Sherlock is an aristocratic young man and John ends up as his companion.No matter what year we're talking about, Sherlock is just a pain in the ass. But isn't it part of why we love him?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [The London Husbands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7815229) by [oneburritotorulethemall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneburritotorulethemall/pseuds/oneburritotorulethemall). 



> Hey everyone!  
> I'm translating this beautiful piece from Spanish (Thank you for letting me do this, dear!) so it can reach more people. Because it deserves it.  
> Not Britpicked, I'm just a Spanish fan doing my thing. All mistakes are mine.  
> Enjoy it!

The eighteenth birthday of the younger Holmes had been two days before in the cold atmosphere of January, forcing any celebration to be carried inside the manor to ensure comfort for the guests. This fact would have disheartened anyone, except him. Because... who would he invite, if he did not have any friendships?

That was exactly what Mr Holmes wanted to change for his youngest, Sherlock, a young man who had just come of age, with a head full of dark ringlets and marble skin whose character opposed his physical attractiveness every time he took his mandatory walk at noon or during his parent's dinners. 

*******

Someone knocked on the door to Sherlock's studio, where the black-haired man was bent over a small snake pinned to a tray to be the next victim to his curiosity.  
"It won't be necessary to have the same conversation again, will it, father?" he asked without raising his head, still focused on the dead animal. His father clenched his fists in annoyance. 

"Mind telling me what happened out there, Sherlock?" Mr Holmes was completely serious, his gaze on his son. "And look at me when I talk to you". Rolling his eyes Sherlock left his curiosity aside to look at his father, ready to lose another five minutes ("no, three minutes and twenty seconds now he is not in the mood") in a conversation he knew he was going to win. 

"I welcomed Miss Cathrine Wyndham for a frankly tedious game of chess, we had tea and, as her right hand indicates she is not capable of engaging in conversation with another human being of acceptable brain capacity" He answered, slightly bored, before turning back to his snake and the acids that intrigued him, increasing the annoyance of his progenitor.

"You called Miss Wyndham stupid, and you practically forced to shamefully walk away from our home!" Mr Holmes stepped closer and held him by the arm. "Look at me when I am talking! What do you think this place is? And this family? Do you perhaps think we're a group of vulgar drunkards screaming around? William Sherlock Scott Holmes, what are you going to do with your life? You are eighteen, you finished school but nothing is good enough for you in this life: you have no friendships; no objective for the life God gave to you. Eat, drink and commit madness in a nice home is marvellous, but I won't always be here to protect your reputation after you ruin it with your appalling character

After those words Sherlock shook himself free from his father's grip and looked at him, serious and almost upset. What was there of interest on the mundane life his parents were trying to force upon him? There was no pastime that could satisfy his hunger for knowledge, his parents considered undignified that someone of his position dedicated their life to any kind of work ("if you wish to do something about society, Sherlock dear, you could go with Mrs Ventham to church on Sunday", his mother had suggested once).  
The only viable way out was the military, but he was not attracted to the idea of living on the move, sleeping on unclean spaces, protecting land that wasn't his and murdering people he had never known but that, exactly as he was, were forced to fight against each other just because an old lady and an elderly man could not manage their problems face to face.  
Now, marry a woman, father children? The idea of forming a family with a species he was not attracted to was as bad as the military, and according to the social rules, one could see how, week after week, each young lady that went to Holmes Manor to try and seduce him so she could wear the Holmes emblem a couple of years later ran out of the house, cursing Sherlock in bitter silence and ignoring the apologies his parent's tried to offer. No, let him be with his books, maps, animals and musical instruments, and in fair exchange, he would stop thrusting hard truths in these girls' faces. 

"Worry not, father dear. I'm quite sure for the moment of my marriage you will find a fresh body to bury wearing my clothes" he smiled, sardonic. He fixed the black silk vest he was wearing and started to walk out. "I do not wish to abandon my knowledge for something as troublesome as "love", nor I desire a faux face playing a "friend" so, for all I care about it, you can hire twenty people to be my friends or love interests, that I will never be interested in any of them". With such words, he abandoned his studio and headed to the stables, wanting to ride a horse and leave behind this disturbance. 

"Maybe that's what I ought to do" Mr Holmes muttered, whispering to the empty room and admiring his son's taste. "maybe that is exactly what I should do".


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I've been working on mu internship and it's been hell. Nearly done, though.  
> As usual, thank you to the lovely author for letting me mess with this.  
> Not beta'd. All mistakes are mine.

The sun was rising, and the poor streets on the east side of London were still dark, yet you could see how the inhabitants of the area were already up and working, getting ready for their jobs at the factories. There was not a lot of money to bring back home, but it was better than nothing.

On the number 24 Boundary Street, Old Nichol district lived a working family, like the families in the rest of the street. The walls were cruel in the winter and less than nice in the summer, and there is where a blond young man of 22 years of age and short stature fixes the cotton vest his mother managed to get him from a peddler years ago.

"Hurry up boy! Today you are coming with me to an important job" said Mr. Watson, commander of the family and father to that blond boy. He obeyed and was soon seated on the bare kitchen table, helping his mother serve breakfast in spite of his father's call. "This job is very important, and if you don't mess this up like you do with everything else we will probably earn about thirty pounds that will help us cover expenses until the end of next month".

"Hamish, do not burden him with our money issues, he is still young for such chagrins" Mrs. Watson tried to interfere. "sorry, dear" she excused herself in the face of the hard warning look her husband shot her.

"One is never too young to work and survive, he is lucky we didn't set him to sweep the streets at age five; stop staring at us like an idiot, John, and hurry up – his father challenged him again, and the boy sighed and obeyed.

Without any more delay, bot Watson men left the home, covering themselves as best as they could with their threadbare coats, and started the walk towards Harrow, a town near London. The long way, about fourteen miles, would have been shorter with a rented chariot a friend was willing to provide for a lower price had his father avoided the bottle that month. That would, at least, have distracted John's thoughts and try to remember how little he had been able to read about basic medical remedies. Even if he would never be a doctor ("You? A doctor? Why not use that money in food and not in stupid things as school? Worry about surviving, boy, and not about fantasy!" had been Mr. Watson's answer when John told him about his life plan), nothing kept him from at least have a peek at what doctors looked at every day.

"All of his class are pretentious bastards." said Mr. Watson suddenly, pulling John out of his reverie and making him notice that, by then, the sun was completely up and they were walking cross-country "always with their bizarre dances and their disgustingly expensive clothing".

"Father" John answered, alarmed.

"Those pretentious bastards, just like the one we are meeting in half an hour, will help us live like royalty for the rest of the month" –the father kept going ignoring his son- "never become one of them boy. They themselves wreck each other through the muck.

_It would not be a bad thing for us to get a little dirty too_ thought the younger man, though at the same time vowed to follow his father's words even when they did not match in the slightest with his own ideas: John had never been higher class (his most pricey possessions were a pair of black boots and a vest he had when he was ten, which his mother had managed to get from a woman she worked for and who had a son Johns age that had dismissed the items after a couple of wears. John had thought this was an arrogant and spiteful, but so what? That meant new clothes for him) but that did not mean he was of his father's opinion that everything rich was bad and every poor had a heart of gold.

His philosophy was simpler: there were good poor and bad poor, the same way there were kind rich and malignant rich, and if a poor really wanted to, they could rise up through hard work.

Abandoning this new train of thought, John could finally see the three-storey building and ample land. He was not in the terrains yet, but he knew his own house could easily be fitted twelve to fifteen times in his new workplace, what finally made him realize this was not a middle class' family estate, nor a banker's place. That house screamed aristocracy from the distance.

When they were halfway through the road leading to the house they could hear the gallop of a single horse. John moved aside and managed to get a glimpse of the young rider flying away from the house, who in turn looked at them with haughtiness and went on his way.

"What did I say? Stupid rich kids" Mr. Watson kept ranting. John thought for a second longer of the rider's eyes: blue, but no completely, looking like the sea after the storm.  _Nevermind;_ he told himself and followed silently towards his new workplace. After the promised half hour their steps finally entered the Holmes state.

The inside was not less distinguished than the exterior, or that's what John thought even though they had been received through the back door, the one the service used. The chief of staff directed them both to the stables.

***********************************************

"The master is going to die if young master Sherlock keeps creating such big trouble". Said one of the maids on the service dining room where everyone was having breakfast after their morning tasks. "He does nothing but cause distress to the poor master".

"That boy should have gotten a good spanking instead of all that liberty and pampering" interrupted the chief housekeeper, a woman of barely forty "That's what I would have done. He's a gentleman for the house he was born in, else one could say he comes from Whitechapel!*"

"Miss Fisher!" another housekeeper muttered after a sip of tea. "the young master may have a difficult character towards his guests, but he is well behaved with us, and comparing him to Whitechapel is unfair, to say the least". She shut up when Mr. Watson entered.

"I would like to have a word with Master William, if possible" "Do not call the master by his given

"Do not call the master by his given name, you fool" Mrs. Fisher reprimanded him severely. "What would you want to discuss with the master anyway?" "This is not of vital importance to me, and probably not to the master

"This is not of vital importance to me, and probably not to the master either," said Mr. Watson with certain disdain "but it could indeed avoid him a heart attack in the near future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*) Whitechapel in the XIX century was the poorest and riskier neighborhood in London (it is still a "bad" neighborhood today).
> 
> I'll try to update sooner for chapter 3. I'll do my best (*Scout promise*)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John might get his dream of being a doctor, but... at what price?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, not beta'd. Remember, English is not my first language (be kind to me).  
> All mistakes are mine

‑"Oi! Watson!" screamed a boy on the outside of the main stable, where John was cleaning up the remaining horses. Hearing his name, he climbed down from the ladder he was using to reach the material and hurried to the boy's side. "You're slow, Watson"

"It's not like you're the fastest man in history, Adam. What do you need?"

"The master is waiting for you in the library" The boy, Adam, looked john from head to toe and, sighing, he tried to fix his hair so it would not be a mess. "I wish we could get rid of the smell of dung"

Ignoring that last comment, John rolled down his sleeves, running to keep up with Adam's steps. "What does Mr. Holmes want from me?"

"Don't let Mr. Forner hear you refer to the master in such an improper way" he advised stopping in his trail to look at John. "Mr. Forner, the butler and chief of service, has scolded all of us at least once, but don't be in a rush for it". He kept moving towards the house. They entered through the service door and followed the unpainted hallways and staircases that made up the servants' domain, all the way up to the library.

 "That's all very nice, but it doesn't answer my question of why is the master asking for me," said john flippantly, trying to cover his nervousness in the face of being called. "I haven't done anything wrong; he gave me this day to get used to this place, and instead I've been working and learning.

"I don't know, Watson. If I was the master I would not put someone so tiny in the stables, but rather I'd have him cleansing boots" Adam smiled at the anger John was trying to conceal in his face. "Careful, Watson. Remember: the master needs to be treated as such, and you must say and do only what he'll allow" he whispered some steps away from the door. "Master, here's the Watson boy".

"Thank you, Adam. You may leave". Mr. Holmes dismissed him with a smile. Adam left, leaving John with his new master and his father's company. "Don't be afraid, Watson. I'm not going to reprimand you, nor fire you". He smiled again, effectively calming John. "In fact, your father has something very interesting to tell you".

John's father stared at Mr. Holmes for a second and then nodded. In John's absence his father had discovered that their employer had a son who caused him pain with his disinterest in everything social, being close to isolation, and in the face of that situation, Mr. Watson had found an excellent opportunity for his son. "You'll see, John". He started off, his voice a kind tone he had never used with his offspring before. "a few minutes ago, the master gave me the chance to speak to him and it turns out his younger son (a fantastic young man) would benefit from a friendship like yours, since you're a trustworthy boy whose friendship is indeed priced. The young master would be happy to have you..."

"What your father means, Watson," interrupted Mr. Holmes "is that your new position would be the male version of a lady-in-waiting. You can borrow the books from the library, new clothes will be bought for you so you can accompany my son to different places and, if you wish, you will be sponsored for any kind of superior education on any subject. You will have a room next to my son, should he need your assistance"

"And... I would only have to... accompany him?" John managed to mutter.

Mr. Holmes nodded. "Accompany him and cover the basic functions of dressing him and assist him with his washing. For that you will be compensated with a monthly pay of twenty pounds, and you will have the Sundays to your own. Obviously food will be provided and, to the world, you will be a visit. If that's fine with you, that is".

John meditated in silence. This was a great opportunity: his job, instead of having him running around from seven in the morning to six in the afternoon, would only have him reading by the boy's side, riding a horse with him, walking around or whatever it was aristocrats did in their spare time... and he would get twenty pounds each month (something quite good for him), have Sundays to himself (so he could visit his mother), get new clothes and, even more important, he had the opportunity to become a doctor.

"Decide, boy! The master does not have all day" said his father, eliciting a laugh from Mr. Holmes

"Watson senior, do not rush him. It is a very important decision after all, one that can change his life"

"I'll do it" John said, attracting both men's attention. "I'll do it, I'll be company and friend to your son".

**************************************************

While John was settling his future on the library, the young jockey he had crossed on his way to Holmes Manor stopped his horse in front of the stables. Noting his arrival, a young brunet boy of amber eyes stepped to meet him.

"Master Sherlock, how was your ride?" he said, grabbing the reins of the horse.

"Nothing unusual, Joshua. Excepting a couple of workers who gaped at Graphein as if they had never seen a horse.

"Sir, it is probable that it wasn't the horse causing that reaction" Joshua smiled softly.

"I guess it could be true" Sherlock answered, trying to hide the confusion that answer had created. He was about to add something else when he heard the screams of some of the maids, who were on their break. He ran to them and was welcomed by three women screaming and trying to avoid the floor at all costs.

"Be careful, young master! The rat!" screamed the youngest maid, looking around nervously. The dark-haired boy tried hard not to roll his eyes, and, locating the rodent (the small animal was hiding between some boxes of cereal), he kicked it to make it go away. 

"Ladies, if you are going to react this way to any appearance of a rodent on an open area, i would suggest to never work on a house in the city. You would die of cardiac arrest within the day". He said severely, going to the main entrance of the house. He allowed the servants to take his crop and scarf while they informed him of his father's whereabouts. He quickly made his way to the library. He could not tolerate clumsiness nor common fears in people, and to him that kind of people should not live close to him, not, at least, without being called to attention for it.

*****************************************************************

"Father!" his voice could be heard a few steps away from the library door.

His father, upon hearing him, sighed and smiled. "speaking of the devil" he said to John and his father when Sherlock stopped at the door. "Sherlock, before you start your usual complains, I would like to introduce Mr. Watson and his father, Hamish Watson to you"

"So what are a couple of workers to me?"

"John is not a simple worker, Sherlock. He's your friend, who I expect you to treat properly".

"Father!" Sherlock was outraged at the news. "He is not my friend. I just know he is the son of a worker and an arthritic seamstress, who somehow managed to make a huge effort to give him milk and eggs for breakfast instead of his ration of black bread, and that they both live on the East side of London".

Had he not been so disparaging, John would have marvelled with that deduction. The tone of disdain and contempt, though, had him begging that the black-haired boy was not the one he would have to accompany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! :D


End file.
